


Dragons and Duties

by politicalmamaduck



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragon Riding Stannis, F/M, One Shot, Stannerys, possibly to be continued, winter is coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:03:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/pseuds/politicalmamaduck
Summary: The day before they fight to save Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen and Stannis Baratheon realize they are more alike than they thought.





	Dragons and Duties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyTP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTP/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 Alternate Songs exchange.

The girl was young, far too young.

So young, to have such power and potential.

She had arrived in the North with her dragons and her Dothraki, her purple eyes steeled toward the horizon.

When the battles were over, he could not say what she would do.

They both had declared that the Iron Throne was theirs by right, yet neither wanted to tear the Seven Kingdoms apart for it once again.

This battle in the North would be for survival, not for power.

The dragon queen was too young to bear such a burden, much like his own daughter, to whom the crown would fall should they both perish.

Stannis allowed himself one moment more of reflection before leaving his tent.

* * *

 

Drogon circled the skies above, making the weak winter sunshine seem even more faint through his shadow.

Daenerys Targaryen had finally come home, to famine and bloodshed. Even more pressing than the chaos caused by the mummer’s dragon had been the threat by creatures in the North made of ice and night.

She had never been more grateful to be the blood of the dragon; all around her, troops tried to stay warm as best they could, huddled around what fires they dared.

How the wildlings had survived so long past the Wall, she could not say.

She walked through their camp, checking to be sure that blades were sharp and arrows were tipped in pitch. Fire would be their dearest friend, a most valiant ally against the icy wights. Fire, and dragonglass.

Before her arrival, her cousin--Lord Stannis--directed Dragonstone to send as much of the material North as possible. Daenerys had seen the men desperately mining for it when she had set foot on Westerosi soil for the first time. She scarcely had a moment to reflect, to give in to the tears of grief and gratitude that she was finally home, before setting her course North to fight alongside her rival against the Night King’s armies.

She and Stannis put their bid for the Iron Throne aside for the time being. She longed to get to know him better, to practice High Valyrian with little Shireen, who had so recently lost her mother. Daenerys had tried to build a family among the Dothraki and the Meereenese, but nothing could compare to coming home to Westeros and learning she was not the last person with the blood of the dragon flowing through her veins. But there had been no time, not with the future of Westeros in the balance.

Their tents were on opposite sides of the camp, and she made her way across slowly, receiving about as many bows from soldiers as she did stares and whispers. There were many who were wary of her and her Dothraki, who did not trust Mad King Aerys’s daughter who had been raised abroad.

She was beginning to better understand their point of view, having witnessed the devastation the mummer’s dragon had wrought in the south and the Lannisters had wrought in King’s Landing. None of this would have happened, Robert Baratheon would not have rebelled, had her father not lost his wits and become consumed by the flame.

Putting her thoughts aside, she steeled her spine and made to meet with her cousin. There was so much to do, and so little time.

How she longed for the warmth of the East, for her comfortable quarters in Meereen! Even the sun-bleached grass of the Dothraki Sea had been greener than the bleak landscape of the North. She could have continued to build her life in the East, but dragons did not plant trees, and there would be fire and blood on the morrow.

* * *

 

She really was strikingly beautiful, his cousin; so characteristically Targaryen. The blood of the dragon did not extend that way in Stannis’s family, although her dragons didn’t seem to mind him the way they did with so many others. Perhaps, it was because he did not show his fear and for that they respected him.

He had never thought to see a dragon, but here were  three of them, and just in time. Four, if one were to count the woman who styled herself their mother. As if one could be a mother to fire-breathing beasts.

If the battle against the Night King and his horde were won on the morrow, the fire-breathing beasts could turn on Stannis and his men at a moment’s notice. He did not want to think about that possibility.

“My lady,” said Davos, showing Daenerys into Stannis’s tent. She smiled warmly at Davos, extending her hand, which he kissed.

Stannis tried not to roll his eyes at the scene, then followed his cousin back into his tent. Davos remained outside, obviously carefully listening for the conversation about to unfold.

Resisting the urge to grind his teeth, Stannis offered Daenerys a cup of water as she seated herself. He had troops to oversee, and so did she. And yet she was here, wanting to discuss their future if they survived the battle. Despite himself, he was curious as to what the woman truly wanted. She wanted the Iron Throne, clearly. The smallfolk would fear her, and them, but the Lannisters would not go quietly in the south. She could win the throne with her dragons, but at what price?

He knew she was here for his support; he was not sure if he would give it to her. Stannis could not say if he knew whether Daenerys would be a just queen or not. He would not have allowed his brother to massacre her and her brother like Robert had planned, nor would he have allowed the Lannister filth to permeate his court as his brother did. If he had the gift of foresight, he would have done so many things differently. Whether that foreclosed the possibility of his gaining the Iron Throne, ceding his claim to the woman before him, he did not know. He still felt that the throne was his duty, that the Westerosi would not necessarily accept the Mad King’s daughter as their sovereign. And truly, he had sacrificed so much in furtherance of that claim to duty.

His heart ached to remember the Blackwater, and his wife so freshly in her grave. She had not taken well to the North.

Stannis had not often been a man given to reflection, but much had changed over the past months. Perhaps it was the gift of age, or of the realization that he was fighting a battle to save his kingdoms rather than win the throne.

Or perhaps things had changed since his cousin had arrived, followed by a Dothraki horde and an Unsullied army.

Stannis met her gaze, and felt as though her purple eyes were piercing his soul. It suddenly seemed much warmer in his tent. Her effect on people was not unlike that of the red priestess’s.

Melisandre had chosen to remain by the side of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He could not find it in himself to truly regret her absence, or begrudge her the choice. It was better that she remain on the Wall, to defend it should their armies fall. 

Indeed, much had changed. He no longer had a red hawk on which to rely, but now three dragons. And their mother, who still seemed to be considering him. Her gaze truly was unnerving--and unyielding.

Neither seemed to want to speak.

Stannis finally chose to break the silence. He who was unyielding, would now yield.

“We have much to do before tomorrow. What have you to say?” he asked, and wished, perhaps for the first time, that his words could be kinder. He knew that there had not been much time for them to grow acquainted with one another.

“I would like to get to know you better, Lord Stannis,” she said, her lips betraying the hint of a smile. “We are cousins, after all, and you have fought admirably to protect these kingdoms from falling.”

“It is likely that I shall die upon the morrow, cousin,” he replied. “We will not have a long acquaintance. I would advise you to remain far away from the fighting, but my men tell me you mean to fly upon your black dragon.”

“Yes,” she said, simply, not having flinched at his harsh response. “Drogon will accept no other rider. No one has yet tried to mount Rhaegal or Viserion,” she added, continuing to hold his gaze.

Stannis felt his breath catch as she continued.

“I wish to know how strongly the blood of the dragon flows through your veins.”

She took his hand at this, before he had the chance to object, and led him out of his tent, towards where her dragons had been chained, as far away from the main camp as could be dared.

Stannis did not remove his hand from her grasp; he could feel how warm she was through his leather gloves.

The blood of the dragon, indeed.

Shireen had always feared the stone dragons at Dragonstone; she had nightmares of being eaten. With this in mind, Stannis kept her far away from his cousin’s beasts. They undoubtedly considered human children of her size to be a wholesome snack, if the stories were true.

Stannis did not ask as they approached the beasts, snarling at their keepers as hunks of raw meat were tossed in front of them. They shot their flames, instantly blackening the meat before devouring it in a matter of seconds.

He was Stannis Baratheon, rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and he would not be afraid.

The green dragon looked right at him, as if considering him. Sizing him up as someone to be respected, or eaten?

Stannis met his gaze, his eyes molten fire. At least it was much warmer near the dragons; they had melted the surrounding snow to reveal muddy earth beneath.

The dragon allowed him to approach, slowly and surely.

“Don’t hesitate,” Daenerys said, softly. “It’s hot, but you’ll grow accustomed to it.”

Stannis nodded, inclining his head to the dragon.

“His name is Rhaegal,” she continued, as Stannis drew closer to the great beast.

“Rhaegal,” he said, stepping forward. _Of course she would name one of her dragons after her late brother_. Both of her late brothers, to his understanding, even though it seemed Daenerys had as difficult a relationship with Viserys as Stannis had with Renly and Robert. They said she did not openly mourn her brother’s death, but naming a dragon for him seemed to suggest otherwise.

Stannis imagined Renly holding his peach and laughing at him in front of the dragon, and reached out his hand.

He touched the dragon’s left flank for but a moment, feeling the searing heat beneath him, and mounted the dragon as it reared, roaring and breathing fire into the sky.

He held on despite it bucking beneath him, willing himself to tame the beast as he would another horse.

After a few minutes in which it felt like the world was shaking and turning to fire beneath him, the dragon seemed to accept his presence, coming back down to stand on all fours.

 _Rhaegal_ , he thought, and found it fitting, for he was surely as doomed as Rhaegar had been.

Daenerys seemed satisfied with his performance, and she nodded at Stannis as he dismounted.

“He is yours to ride, on the morrow,” she said.

Stannis was not entirely sure how to respond to the Dragon Queen. He should consider it an honor, he supposed, to ride a dragon. He was not a Targaryen, however, and he did not want to be seen as acceding to his young rival’s claims. Still, the dragonfire would be useful against the Others’ ice.

In the end, all he said was “Thank you.”

Daenerys merely smiled. 

* * *

 

Daenerys was not particularly surprised by the aptitude which Stannis seemed to hold for riding her dangerous green dragon. Viserion would have been too showy for the king made of iron; Rhaegal was a warrior like his namesake. Like the man standing before her, so silent and unyielding.

Yet he had accepted her test and mounted her dragon without protest. A curious man was her cousin, one who divulged less about himself by his words than by his actions.

The fact that he had been the only claimant to the Iron Throne who recognized the peril in the North for what it was, and had brought his men to help the Night’s Watch, spoke volumes to Daenerys. She herself wished she had known sooner; she had been fighting petty battles from inside her pyramid in Meereen while her people here in Westeros had suffered, both at the hands of the Lannisters and their war, and as a result of the winter winds bringing south an ancient foe.

The Battle for the Dawn had come, and Daenerys wanted to prove herself a ready leader, a queen who would save her people or lay down her life in the attempt.

She had never been so frightened before.

 _I am the blood of the dragon_ , she repeated to herself over and over as she shivered through her furs in her tent. The nights grew colder yet, and even despite her natural warmth the cold sank into her bones.

_I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears._

Still, she could not sleep.

She knew it would cause a scandal, but she dressed herself and slipped out of her tent. She knew Stannis would not be sleeping either. 

* * *

 

Stannis kept his water close to the small fire in his tent so that it would not freeze.

He sat, grinding his teeth, and poured over the latest letters from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, making calculations about defenses and lines of retreat should the battle go poorly the next day.

He could still hear the voices of many men on watch, of the Dothraki horde calling out to each other in their guttural tongue, blades being honed and sharpened.

Davos snored away in the next tent over.

His tent flap opened, and Daenerys appeared, startling him out of his thoughts.

“I could not sleep,” she said by way of greeting, and seated herself next to him by his fire. “I knew you would also be awake,” she continued, and he did not interrupt her to ask how she would know such a thing.

“In Astapor and Meereen, my Dothraki and Unsullied fought for me,” she said after a moment’s pause. “They have vowed to follow me, to fight for me, yet I personally have not led them into battle. I am but one young woman, who calls herself Queen, Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons, who has finally come home to find a people who have been devastated by war, famine, and fire. You and I fight to give our people a future, but can we truly break the wheel of violence?”

She was looking into the fire as if it held the answers she sought rather than looking at Stannis, and he knew that she was allowing him to see this vulnerable side of her that she could not, would not show to others. In this he realized that she saw him as her equal, and perhaps why she seemed to trust him so readily, offering him one of her dragons to ride. Indeed, she must have been terribly lonely, he realized, without a family or a loyal advisor like Davos to stand by her side. Though he did not often show it, Stannis valued Davos and his wife and daughter. One of those three had gone to an icy grave, however, and Shireen remained at Castle Black, hopefully safe for the time being.

He looked at Daenerys with compassion, and began to understand her in a way he had not understood many.  He, too, had been orphaned, and steeled his heart against the world, trusting few.  And like him, she sought to do her duty by her throne and her people.

Perhaps they were not so unalike after all.

“You believe it is your duty to fight to protect your people, do you not?” he asked her. She looked up from the fire and into his eyes, and nodded firmly.

“Then on the morrow, we shall do our duty,” he said. “The battle will not be easy. It is likely that many will perish, for these wights are unlike anything we have seen before. But we shall fight to give our people a future, that they may survive the long winter. We will do what is right by our people, and should we fall in the attempt, we at least die doing our duty. We cannot choose our destinies, but we can choose to fight together to save the kingdom. We can determine the rest after the battle.”

She nodded once more at this, and placed one of her warm hands on his clasped ones.

“Thank you, Stannis,” she said. “I am glad that you will be fighting by my side, and that you shall ride Rhaegal. He has chosen a worthy rider, a truly noble king to mount him.”

He was warmed by both her skin on his own and by her words. He had not truly allowed himself to consider the dragon after the moment had passed; his thoughts had been consumed with the battle and the troops, routes and plans.

But to ride a dragon by the Dragon Queen’s side, perhaps that would strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, both wight and Lannister alike.

“I am glad that you and your dragons are here,” he admitted, now feeling that it was his turn to show vulnerability. It seemed that he had nothing to lose, and much to gain, by working with Daenerys. They would do much more good together than against one another, should they survive the battle. She was not mad like her father, nor besotted with power like Cersei Lannister, nor playacting at being a ruler like his brother Renly. She was a worthy and useful ally, and it seemed she thought the same of him.

He continued after he had collected his thoughts. “I have fought seemingly alone for quite some time, not because I wanted to, but because it was my duty. I have no lust for battle like some, but I will do what I must.”

“As will I,” she said. “I have done what I believed to be right, and I will continue to do so. Our kingdom is more important than petty squabbling, and these wights are far more dangerous than the Lannisters.”

She paused for a moment more, then looked up into his eyes once more. Taking his hands between hers, she said “As I have no living children, I have signed documents naming Shireen as my heir. Should we fall tomorrow, she will inherit not only the Iron Throne, but my khalasar and Unsullied, with claims to Meereen as well.”

Stannis was taken aback; he had not expected Daenerys to bestow such an honor upon a young girl she had barely met.

“Shireen will be honored,” he managed to say. “She has deserved better than what I have been able to give her.”

Looking at Daenerys, he found he could not say more. His heart was full in a way that he could not say it had been for many years. Though he may have been doomed to death on the morrow, at least together they had provided Shireen and the kingdom she would inherit with a future.

Daenerys seemed to know this as well, and stood up, leaning over to press a kiss to Stannis’ cheek.

He was startled, but allowed the gesture.

They passed the night together, talking softly until they finally fell asleep, Daenerys in Stannis’ arms.

Perhaps the future was not so bleak after all, and winter would bow to fire’s might.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to LadyTP for allowing me the gift of writing my favorite ASOIAF pairing. I hope I did my favorite characters justice and that you like this! (I based it mostly on what you wrote in your Dear Creator letter, I hope you don't mind.) It was an honor and pleasure to write.  
> An equally huge thank you to my beta boo Desiree for helping me find Daenerys's words and making my writing the best it can be, as always.  
> Comments and constructive feedback are always appreciated, and you can find me sailing my Stannerys canoe on Tumblr as well!


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